It's such a weird mix of feelings - it is so very cool to be here, and so hard to be away from LWI and his family. I have a whole bedroom to myself! and a whole bathroom to myself! and a whole kitchen to myself, apartment gods be praised! but then again, I'm alone. Bleah. But this apartment is so unbelievably cool; it's little teensy tiny, but it's an attic of a 17th century building, with big old wooden beams and slanty ceilings and skylights everywhere. If I stretch a little I can see the cathedral of Notre Dame out the living room window.
My two favorite moments of the past three weeks:
the first time I visited MIL in the hospital, after she'd been in the ICU for a week - she saw me come in and her face just lit up. That look on her face is going to make me happy for weeks.
yesterday the LWI was updating his calendar, and he asked what date we were flying back to the City Where We Live But For Which I Have Not Yet Chosen An Appropriate Nickname. I told him the date, and he entered the phrase "Flight back home." Normal enough, but keep in mind, he grew up and lived in the same house in Madrid until he was in his 30s, and then I came along and lured him away to the U.S. where we've been now for eight years, only the last five of them in Our City (not that I wouldn't have loved to live in Spain, but academic jobs are easier to get in the U.S., if you can believe it.) So I looked at him and said "Do you mean that? Is Our City really home for you now?" and he replied that of course it was. That just means the world to me... I've always felt bad that he's so far from his family and the place where he grew up, but he really does feel at home with me. Awww.
